


Thrice Accursed

by Otherworlder



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otherworlder/pseuds/Otherworlder
Summary: Thrice accursed are the kinslayers, thrice accursed are those who fought and lost each and every time. Galadriel throughout the three kinslayings.





	

The third time Galadriel prepared herself to cross swords with Maedhros she had neither her rage at Alqualonde nor her desperation at Menegroth. She was a sight to behold, hair escaping the braid and flying about her face, grey eyes glowing with a terrible light, but she was indeed calm and collected. She had made what peace there was to make with the world and she was ready to die, the last child of Finarfin to make a stand against the crushing madness of an Arda Marred. Her brothers all died valiantly standing before the darkness and its servants, yet she would stand against fellow children of Illuvatar. Such was what she deserved, for did she not leave Valinor burning with fury and pride betrayed, secretly swearing vengeance for all the atrocities of the House of Feanor? So she should rightfully bear witness to all such atrocities. 

She dashed into the lighthouse at the top of the sea-facing cliff, moments after Elwing, so it seemed, for the princess was just opening the trapdoor. By then she was alone, and Elwing too was without her companions, clutching to her two young sons with a wild look on her face. Elwing was glowing, a shimmer of silvery gold light enveloped her. Though she hid Luthien’s jewel in a box beneath the many layers of her clothing, its light still would not be masked. They had pried the jewel apart from its setting in the Nauglamir; Elwing took the stone, but Galadriel wore the original Nauglamir rich with its Valinorean gems about her throat. Recalling every bittersweet memory of Valinor and her glorious brother, she cast an enchantment about herself, setting the jewels aflame with light, so that she seemed like a shining beacon in the chaos. She had hoped to draw the Feanorians to her company so that Elwing could make her way across the city to the lighthouse unnoticed. She led the Feanorians on a merry chase around the city a few times, before hiding the Nauglamir and escaping into the shadows. Galmir, one of the few survivors of Nargothrond, covered her retreat. The plan worked, barely, for here was Elwing, yet alone without any of her faithful companions, and she was here far too late. 

“Oh aunt!” Elwing sobbed, “You are here, at least you are here. Yet you are alone, did everyone…”

“We had this conversation already, Elwing,” Galadriel cut her off, “The two of us can sail well enough. Let us descend to the cove.”

A trapdoor within the lighthouse led to a secret stairwell carved into the mountain-side and down to the cove below. A few small ships were moored in the shadow of the cliff face, pleasure crafts mostly, insignificant enough to escape the notice of the Feanorians, one could hope. Neither of them was a mariner of Earendil’s ilk, but Elwing too learned at Tuor’s knees alongside her husband, and Galadriel had enough Alqualonde left in her, they could sail circles around the sons of Feanor. If they could only board a ship!

Yet Elwing spoke with uncertainty, “I saw people moving up and down the beaches; it is not unlikely that they have already discovered the boats moored there, perhaps even the cliff-side stairs.”

“Perhaps, but we have to try nonetheless. Let us go.”

But perhaps it was already too late. They heard thumping footsteps hurrying towards them, and a look out the window told them it was Maedhros leading his company towards the lighthouse with purpose and determination. 

“They are coming directly towards us!” Elwing said, astonished, “How do they know about the lighthouse? Are we betrayed?”

Galadriel unsheathed her sword with deadly calm and said, “Most likely, enough of the Noldor did stand aside and just let the kinslayers pass. Go, Elwing, I will buy you time.” And she moved to the door, ready to step outside and face her cousins.

“No!” Elwing lunged forward and gripped her hand in a sudden fit of terror and passion. The young princess of Doriath exclaimed, tears filling her twilight grey eyes, “No, not you too! I will not let you die for me, nana!”

Galadriel shook her hand away firmly. 

“We had this conversation,” So spoke Galadriel for the second time, “Take your boys and go!”

Galadriel stepped outside the lighthouse and closed the door behind her. Maedhros came to a dead stop some twenty steps from her, his eyes widening. Galadriel stared at her eldest half-cousin, taking in that imposing stature and that flaming hair, those crazed and terrible eyes, and strangely she did not feel any rage. Yet she was not moved to pity either. There Maedhros stood, a perfect stranger, whose mind and soul were so alien to hers now, that empathy itself has become an outlandish concept. The valiant laughing Maitimo, beloved by all the younglings of the House of Finwe, had been long dead to her. 

“Step aside, Artanis,” Maedhros said stonily, “I know Dior’s daughter has gone into the lighthouse with our father’s jewel in her clutch.”

“Then you should know I would not step aside. She is dear to me, no less than a child of my own body.”

“I showed you mercy at Menegroth!” Maedhros cried out with sudden anger, “Do not expect the same when you dare to stand in my way to the Silmaril!”

“Mercy?” 

Galadriel stared at Maedhros for a long moment, then she burst out laughing.

“Mercy indeed, son of Feanor,” So spoke she, “You burned my home, slaughtered my king, left my princes and the sons of my niece in the woods to die, and you stood over the motionless body of my lord husband and told me that I shall always have a home with you, who is my kin. That is your mercy, Maedhros. Be glad I shall never bestow such mercy, not even on you.”

“Your king?! Dior was a bone-headed, foolhardy, shameless half-breed who had no business meddling in the affairs of his elders!” Maedhros roared, “Would Dior dare to call himself your king? You, the daughter of Finarfin and one of the last living scions of the House of Finwe!” 

“I gave Dior Eluchil my allegiance freely, and he gave me in return everything due to a liege woman. He was ten times the king your father ever were, Feanorion.”

Dior had been a young man even at his death, too young, yet he was just, temperate, and very considerate, if not actually wise. His plan to defend Menegroth and the Silmaril was at once foolhardy and immensely practical. Dior himself and his father-in-law, Celeborn’s brother Galadhil, led the main defense. Celeborn and Amdir each led a company that would cover the flight of women and children and those not trained in combat, should the situation calls for it. Oropher led another troop of rangers and archers, already scouting out routes of retreat. Nimloth and her twin sons were in Celeborn’s company, but Dior had set the Silmaril on his daughter’s neck and then placed young Elwing’s hand in Galadriel’s. She was to lead the second company with Amdir. 

She had protested this arrangement, but Elu’s heir looked her in the eyes and said, “Please, aunt, you are our last insurance against the sons of Feanor; I can trust no other with Elwing and the Silmaril.” 

Dior seemed so untroubled then; he was capable of an easy, earnest, almost light-hearted acceptance of the worst possible outcome, a mortal trait that few Firstborn could comprehend. So she followed her King’s order and she fled the halls of Menegroth even as the fighting came to its bloodiest, carrying Elwing on her back as the company ran. She had vaguely sensed everyone’s fall: first Dior and Galadhil by his side, then Nimloth who dashed back to her husband and father’s side, and it was hard to say whether her soul fled from a blade or the sheer shock and grief of the moment. Finally she felt Celeborn’s crescendo of fear and fury and desperation snap into nothingness, and her entire body went rigid. For a few seconds she forgot where she was, what she was doing, even who she was. When her mind snapped back she saw Amdir watching her with overflowing nervousness.

“What is it, aunt?” The young elf whispered, “Is my uncle Celeborn…”

Amdir was the son of a granddaughter of Elmo and a Nandor. He lost both parents as a young elfling, Celeborn and Galadhil were like fathers to him. He had held up well so far, bearing the weighty task of surviving and fleeing his kingdom instead of dying in its defense with admirable calm. Now his nerves looked ready to fray. 

“‘Tis nothing,” Galadriel spoke in a steely voice, “We must press onward.”

Some time later——she could not keep track how many minutes or hours had passed exactly——Oropher joined them. He had already gathered some of Celeborn’s company, though neither Celeborn nor the young princes were among them. The company had been scattered; Lord Celeborn fought the sons of Feanor in defense of the princes, none knew what became of them, so the refugees said, weeping. By now they were far enough from Menegroth, so Galadriel gently set Elwing down and put the little girl’s hand in Oropher’s. 

“She is your princess and your kin, you will protect her with your life, will you not?”

Oropher too was of the House of Elmo, and kin to Elu Thingol. The golden warrior took the young princess’s hand with a panicked look, and he exclaimed, “You cannot possibly go back, aunt, he… He would not want to see you do this! He would want to see you safe and starting life anew, my lady.”

“Perhaps, but I would not want it, not without him,” Galadriel said, “I must go. I will bring him back to you all, or else I will join him.”

Oropher stared at her with fear and sheer disbelief. She did not seem to him, or anyone else, as the type who would follow a dying husband. She did not think herself the type. Had she not already suffered every loss? She lost beloved kin and kith at Alqualonde, she was forever sundered from her parents, and then lost every brother, yet she had weathered through it all. Over the years she sometimes wondered what she would do were she to lose Celeborn. When it had been no more than an idle thought experiment she could imagine herself proud and defiant. She was no Melian, she told herself, she would live and avenge her love, she would be fearsome and awe-inspiring in her bitter solitude. Yet when faced with this distinct reality she understood Melian with perfect clarity. It seemed unflinchingly simple now: save him, or join him, there was nothing else for her to do.

She searched through the ruins of Menegroth, saying a quick prayer for every body, Noldor and Sindar alike. With each death she saw she grew a little calmer, and the thought of finding Celeborn thus was no longer so terrifying, rather it gave her a sense of proper finality. At last she found her husband in a wide hall littered with many bodies, his bloodied silver hair instantly catching her eyes. She knelt down on the stone floor by his side, oblivious to all else. A voice called her name but she ignored it. She saw Celeborn was paler than the white stone beneath him, and a long knife pierced his side. She could still feel his pulse, so rapid and weak that it seemed ready to fade out any moment, and the thread of his breath was already too thin to feel. She found him, yet living, but there he lay dying before her very eyes.

“Artanis!”

She heard the call this time, turned and found herself staring into the grey eyes of Maedhros. The eldest son of Feanor looked at her with guilt and anger alike. He whispered, “Please, let him go, Artanis. Our healers already inspected everyone still lying here; there is… there is no hope for anyone here. We are looking to bury as many as we can.”

She finally noticed there were many Noldor milling about the hall, gathering the bodies of the fallen. None had approached her husband, for a silver-haired Sinda would certainly be held in contempt. 

“He was defending the young princes against Curufinwe and Tyelkormo’s company,” Maedhros explained softly, “I came too late. Everyone is dead. Was he dear to you, Artanis? They say he was Elu’s kinsman. Curufinwe is dead by his hands!”

Galadriel lifted her head a little, her eyes suddenly intense. She asked, “Where now are Dior’s sons? Surely you and yours have not fallen to murdering children, Feanorion.”

Maedhros growled and he spoke grudgingly, “Tyelkormo’s followers took them away and left them in the woods, so they said. I already sent my people to look for the princes. I… Artanis, I am sorry. You should have counseled Dior to give us our father’s jewel!”

“What will you do with the princes should you find them?” Galadriel stared at her cousin, “Trade them for the Silmaril?” 

“No! They are but children, I will simply send them to their kin, I will…Yet the Silmaril is ours! The Sindar can have their princes, so long as we shall have our gem!” Maedhros looked like one pulled in all directions and he was mad with a hundred different griefs.

“Promise me you will not endanger their lives, swear it on the honor of the House of Finwe,” Galadriel pressed.

“Of course not!” Maedhros snapped, “Whatever this, whatever this war was, I would not harm children.”

Just then a warrior appeared by Maedhros’s side and he reported, “My lord, we cannot find the young heirs. They are not where Master Galion left them, and we already searched the surrounding area thoroughly.”

“Keep searching!” Maedhros roared.

It was all hopeless. 

Galadriel returned all her attention to her dying husband. She wrapped a hand around the hilt of the knife buried in his body and took a deep breath. 

“Artanis!” Maedhros put a hand on her shoulder, “Enough, Artanis, it is too late for him. We will bury him as it is befitting of Elu Thingol’s kinsman, and you can pay your respect then. Please, stay no longer in the midst of carnage, come with me. You will always have a home with me, for are we not kin?”

“Remove your hand,” Galadriel’s voice was like pure ice, “You stand over the body of my lord husband and tell me I shall always have a home with the likes you? Leave. Either I walk by his side once more in Arda, or else I follow him. I shall never stand before his grave.”

Maedhros stumbled back as if struck, his shock a palpable wave, but Galadriel remained oblivious to it all. She pulled the knife free with one clean movement, and pressed a corner her cloak to the wound. She could feel Celeborn’s pulse quicken some more, even as the last of his life force ebbed away with his blood. So she poured her power and light and her very soul into his prone form, trying to compensate for all the blood and life fleeing his body. Either she had life enough for the both of them, or they would go, together. Maedhros called her name, again and again, guilt-wrecked and urgent, yet she was deaf to it all. The tangible world around her quickly wheeled out of existence. 

That was more than thirty years ago, yet for the Eldar what were thirty years but a blink of the eye? The memory was still as fresh as yesterday. 

Galadriel remembered waking to an utterly desolate and empty Menegroth. The entire world around her seemed dead then, no light shone through the well-placed skylights, and no birdsong could be heard. The only thing that yet breathed was Celeborn in her arms, though he was very weak——they both were. The Feanorians had left them there in the emptied hall, thinking them dead and rightfully entombed with Menegroth. The pain of losing so many brothers including one at Celeborn’s hand finally caught up with Maedhros. Too dazed and conflicted to know what he should do, he simply left them there without a backward glance. 

It took Celeborn and Galadriel a full three months to recover and to follow the other refugees of Doriath to the mouth of Sirion. Their arrival in Sirion brought the Sindar great joy, for Celeborn was well loved, and the last remnant of his people looked to him to lead. Oropher and Amdir both breathed a sigh a relief. They had rebuilt what they could, joined by the refugees from Gondolin a few years later, and after three decades Sirion could almost feel joy again. 

Almost. So close yet destined not to be. 

Someone moved to Maedhros’s side and whispered audibly, “My lord, the beaches are rocky and difficult to traverse, the group we sent down by the sea might not reach the cove below in time. They say Dior’s daughter is an adept sailor; if she gets on a boat…”

Maedhros’s fist tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he growled, “Step aside! Stand in my way a moment longer, you will taste my sword, cousin dearest!”

She unsheathed her own sword as a reply and tossed the scabbard aside. 

Maedhros’s eyes glowed nearly red, and he let loose a sound akin to a wolf’s wounded howl as he charged, sword swinging. She parried, as naturally as it had been many, many years ago, when they were younglings jousting with green branches. So there they dueled, and Maedhros’s followers stared from a distance behind, utterly dumbfounded. Had Maedhros commanded they would have raised their swords against even Finarfin’s daughter and easily overwhelmed her, yet Maedhros charged forward himself. For the first few minutes the two cousins seemed well-matched in this deadly dance, but there was never any doubt that Maedhros would emerge the victor. Galadriel was tall beyond the measure of the women of Noldor, yet she was still a woman. Her mother-name was no more than a gentle loving tease; no amount of steel and fire in her soul could make up for the way Maedhros towered above her, or is twice as thick around the waist, or the way she could not parry a swing from Maedhros without it setting her very bones shaking from the impact. It was perhaps all that more ironic that her skills were imposing enough that Maedhros could never subdue her without killing or seriously maiming.

Their duel was growing more intense now, ready to spill blood and end lives with the smallest of missteps. Maedhros’s followers still watched from behind, miserably clueless. In the midst of the frantic quiet an arrow suddenly sliced through the air and buried itself in Galadriel’s shoulder. She was dazed by pain but not in truth shocked, yet Maedhros pulled back from a lunge and turned ever so slightly, shouting, “Who dares——”

This was the opportunity she sought and she swung her sword with added vehemence, perhaps brought on by the arrow still buried in her shoulder. Maedhros did not expect the attack and could not twist away before Galadriel’s sword slashed open his arm. Maedhros roared, and a second arrow came whistling through the air, and it hit Galadriel in the thigh. Finally she could not resist the waves of pain and weakness that washed over her, she crumpled to the ground. 

_Galadriel!——_

She heard Celeborn’s scream in the back of her mind. As soon as the Battle of Sirion had started in earnest he pulled away from her mind, even kept his growing fear and wrath in check. He did not want to distract her.

_We are near. The towers of Sirion are within sight. Ereinion is by my side, as is Cirdan. Do not leave me. Go not where I cannot follow._

Maglor walked forward, bow and arrow in hand. 

“Are you mad?” Maedhros screamed at his younger brother.

“Do you want to kill her in earnest?!” Maglor shouted back, “If you two continue this she will die at your hand! Now we can finish this and then find a healer for her. Go! Go after Dior’s daughter!”

There was no need to give chase, for suddenly the door of the lighthouse threw open, and Elwing and her two sons appeared in view. Warriors down at the beach had caught up with them just as they were about to board a ship, and they were forced to flee back up the cliff-side stairs to the lighthouse again. Elwing locked the trapdoor behind her to cut off pursuers, but she had nowhere else to run; she had to face Maedhros. So she threw open the door to the lighthouse, and the sight that greeted her eyes snapped something in her. 

Elros was the first to react. The little boy charged out the door towards where Galadriel had fallen without a second thought. 

“Daernaneth! Daernaneth!!” The child cried out.

He grabbed Galadriel’s hand and shook it with both gentleness and urgency. Receiving no reply he screamed like a wild horse colt. He picked up Galadriel’s sword and held it tightly with both hands. He would have charged straight towards Meadhros if it were not for his twin brother, now at his side and holding on to a corner of his robe. Elrond neither spoke nor screamed, but he stared at Maedhros with an unnerving grey gaze that was so unlike the gaze of a six-year old. 

Maedhros backed two steps up unconsciously, then he straightened and steeled himself, roaring, “Hand me the Silmaril, daughter of Dior!”

“How could you? Nana was your own kin, one of the last of the House of Finwe. How could you?! Would you murder your own children for that accursed stone?” Elwing started in a whisper and her voice grew shriller and shriller still, “I denied you nothing before. All I asked was some time until the lords of Sirion returned home! And here you are, in the dead of the night, slaughtering women and children!”

“Give it to me, and I will spare you all.”

Elwing burst out laughing, the light in her eyes now fey enough to match Maedhros’s own crazed look.

“I will give you nothing, murderers thrice accursed,” So spoke the princess of Doriath, “I will take the Silmaril with me to the deepest trench beneath the sea, and you will have nothing, not now, not ever. May the Silmarils forever lie just beyond your grasp! May your souls forever writhe in tormented desires! May every light and joy elude you, until the world is remade and still you will not have release!”

“Give it to me!”

Roaring, Maedhros dashed through the door. Elwing turned and ran up the circular stairs leading to the top of the lighthouse. She was swift with maddened grief, and Maedhros made slow by his weariness and blood loss from that gash on his arm. By the time Maedhros reached the top of the light house, he was just in time to see Elwing flipping over the railing and hurling herself to the sea. Her dark hair flew about her as wings unfolding, and the Silmaril clutched in her white hands burned like a star diving towards the sea. 

“No!” Maedhros let loose a furious shout.

It was a three-hundred-foot drop down. The sea was choppy there, the water deep and the currents swift; none of his people could swim well, they would never recover the Silmaril…

Elwing sank into the dark water and disappeared beneath the waves. Maedhros looked out at the crashing and roaring sea for a long time, and just as he was about turn and leave the lighthouse, he suddenly saw a star breaking the surface of the sea and leaping into the air. He stared hard at the star despite its light burning his eyes, and he could make out the rough shape of a great seabird, flying against the wind into the west. The light borne by the bird could not be anything but the Silmaril. 

So finally the Valar showed their hand. 

Maedhros could not contain the tortured wail wrenching its way free of his throat. He tore downstairs in a storm of delirious rage. At the door of the lighthouse he saw Elwing’s two boys kneeling over an unconscious Galadriel. Maglor stood near them, but he was looking away most determinedly. The sight of his young cousin motionless on the ground should have grieved him deeply, but he did not feel anything except the hollow, burning pain in his chest. He grabbed the arm of one of the twins——Elrond or Elros, who knows——and hauled the child up forcibly.

“We are leaving now, and those boys come with us,” He growled. 

The boy started to fight him almost immediately, flailing and swinging his small fist. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Let go of me! Let go!!”

——Elros, then.

Now Elros’s twin was also pulling at Maedhros’s arm, seemingly calmer but in truth no less ferocious than his brother. 

“You cannot just leave daernaneth like this!” Elrond said, “She is hurt, she needs a healer! She will die if you just leave her here.”

“What of it? Ha! It is done, everyone is dead!” Maedhros laughed uncontrollably, “How many did we slay today? Does it really matter if we add Finarfin’s daughter to the list? What is there for any of us in this darkness? We all die! You will come with us, quietly; do not make it any worse for yourselves!

“If there is nothing but darkness and we are all going to die anyway, why should we make it easy for you?” Elrond stared up at Maedhros, defiant and vehement in that quiet way of his. 

A breath later Elros said in a calmer voice, “But we can make it easy. Find some people who will take care of daernaneth, and we will go with you, quietly as you said.”

Galadriel saw Elwing again in a prophetic dream, flying with long white wings granted by Ulmo, the Silmaril shining upon her breast. Elwing had cast herself into the sea. Doriath’s young princess flew in the endless grey sky, with Ulmo’s realm singing and sighing beneath her white wings, finally crashing down on Vingilot’s deck, into the arms of her beloved. Yet Earendil did not set a homeward course. Together the crew raised all the sails and turned the the prow of the ship westward; they sailed for the undying land. Vingilot quickly disappeared into the grey mist that veiled Valinor from her eyes, yet in her heart she knew: she knew Earendil would reach the blessed realm and all the world is about to be changed. 

_Mountains may sink beneath the sea and still I will be by your side. Come back to me, meleth nin._

The voice was so familiar, yet it conjured up a long-sundered face. She was a young girl again, with bare feet and braided hair, standing at the prow of a white ship, laughing like the carefree girl she was. That was before everything, before the Darkening, before the Feanorian Oath, before Alqualonde and before the Ban on the Noldor exodus. That was when she had a real, untainted dream of exploration and adventure, when the Hither Shore represented opportunities rather than vengeance, darkness, and despair. She could go back there. The Valar would not welcome her on a ship, but Mandos would not refuse her soul refuge.

_The Hither Shore is still everything you desire it to be. You are not one to give in to vengeance or despair. Come to me, love._

Yet she felt a weariness like she had never felt before. The five centuries of tears unnumbered, of loss after loss, have finally became too much. It was all so tiring. She longed for rest in Mandos’s hall and Lorien’s garden.

 _Please, do not go._

The Hither Shore was such a cold, dark place, a place where one could barely breathe. Could she still find joy there? In that world of perpetual death?

 _If you need rest you cannot find on the Hither Shore, then you should go._

The voice became achingly soft and tender. 

_Go then. I will follow when I can. As soon as I can, you have my word, most beloved._

Finally she saw clearly the face that accompanied the voice, and suddenly the Hither Shore seemed brighter. She had come under a cloud of anger and vengeance, yet she found unexpected light and joy. New and beautiful things she had witnessed, and there were still much to see and discover, even now, and she would not, she could not, leave him. He fought with every ounce of his strength to remain by her side, and she could do no less for him. So she latched on to the voice and followed him back to the waking world. 

She opened her eyes and found Celeborn sitting at her bedside, just as she expected. He smiled down at her, a relieved smile that was still endlessly sorrowful. He leaned in and kissed her very gently, before saying, “I am sorry. Thank you for staying with me yet, beloved, though little do I deserve it. I can use your strength and wisdom by my side, now most of all times.”

“I would never leave you, so long as it is my choice to make,” She murmured, trying to push herself up, but a sudden stab of pain and Celeborn’s fingers kept her lying abed. 

“Do not excite yourself,” Celeborn said, “You were grievously wounded.”

She shook her head and murmured, “I am restless. Elwing, oh Elwing, I lost sight of her and Vingilot when they turned west. The Valar took pity once, yet will they offer her and Idril’s boy more?”

“I too saw them in your dream. Their fate is beyond our aid now; we can only wait.”

A moment of silence later she drew a deep breath and asked, “Elrond and Elros? Are they…”

Celeborn’s eyes instantly darkened, and suddenly his face was hard as if carved from stone. “The Feanorians have them,” He said in a choked voice, “They were not harmed and they went with the kinslayers willingly, in exchange for a healer to be sent to your side, so your healer told me. Ereinion has already sent envoys to treat with the Feanorians for the boys’ return.”

They both fell silent for a long time, and at last Galadriel said, “I suppose when we find the boys I will have to give the House of Barahir another ring.” She was careful to keep her voice light, yet the weight of her words was clear to the both of them. And then she shifted the topic and asked, “What is the toll? What goes on here now?”

“We shall all go to Balar, Ereinien and Lord Cirdan are organizing the people even now. It will be quick enough, for few are left now. So many have died, Galadriel, not just our people from Doriath, but also Noldor who escaped the fall of Gondolin and Nargothrond lay dead on the steps of their homes. If Oropher and Amdir did not lead so large a company away to settle inland. If only I had been here!” His grip on her hand tightened.

“Perhaps it would only mean more people lying dead on their doorsteps, and your lone sword would hardly turn the tide of the battle. You rightly went seeking aid,” Galadriel released a very small sigh, “What should we do now? What do the people need?”

“You should do nothing but regain your strength and heal, no matter how restless you feel,” Celeborn chided gently, “Ereinion will take care of our people. I am sorry, love, we will not speak of it any longer. You should keep your mind off this for now.”

Galadriel nodded and she murmured, “I have been seeing happier things in my dream; it was long ago, before Morgoth poisoned the trees.”

Celeborn smiled at her, “I never knew you to be a sailor, but you look breathtaking with your loose trousers and bare feet, and your braided hair wound about your head. The ship too is exquisite, as is the tall and silver Telerin prince by your side. I hope I am not too poor a replacement, beloved, though if I might say so I do bear some resemblance to him.”

“So you saw it all,” Galadriel was smiling too, though with great effort, “I have never been fooled by a familiar pretty face; you two are noting alike. He was a determined sort, yes, but gentler than a lamb and just as soft-spoken. Your temper is possibly worse than mine.”

“Surely no worse than yours,” Celeborn teased gently, but his expression became more somber, for he did not fail to notice the word “was”. He asked quietly, “Who was he? He loved you, I could see it clearly on his face.”

“My cousin, the eldest grandson of King Olwe. His name was Teleporno.”

Celeborn did not need to ask anymore. He cupped his wife’s cheek with one hand and said, “We do not need to speak more of Feanorians’ atrocities this day. Please, do not torment yourself so.”

“I have never told this tale. It has been long buried but never forgotten. Will you listen? Suddenly I find myself wanting to remember.”

He kissed her white fingers and murmured, “Of course, tell me.”

“I have always desired to see the Hither Shore,” She began, “Not because I resented the Valar, but because I wanted to see new things. The frozen seas of the north, the strange stars of the south, the famed yellow land composed of nothing but golden sand, and wild, endless caverns carved into the heart of great mountains, I wanted to see them all. And there are so many new people to meet. Aule spoke of his children waking under the mountains, Yavanna laughed about her tree herders, and the Secondborn, the Valar would not speak of them but sometimes we could catch the Maiar whisper about their brief yet utterly untethered lives. My brothers loved them even then. I wanted to witness all of it. There were certainly more than a few young ones of like mind, my brothers, and my cousin for another. We were not all of us guilty of Feanor’s discontent and bitterness; our desires were true and innocent.”

“I spent long years sailing with Teleporno, learning the way of the sea and perfecting his ship. My brothers sometimes sailed with us. One day, we thought, when we are ready, we shall go seek permission from the Elder King to depart Valinor. Yet even before Morgoth’s treachery was made clear, Tirion had become a chilling place. After Feanor was banished to Formenos and grandfather went with him, I barely returned to Tirion at all. Teleporno and I were out at sea always. We were many, many miles from Valinor when the western sky turned dark. We rushed back with all the speed we could muster, and we arrived at Alqualonde just in time to witness Feanor’s greatest crime.”

She sounded calm enough even now, but Celeborn could always hear the silent tremble in her voice, so he gripped her hand a little tighter. 

“Teleporno was cut down by Feanor himself,” Galadriel continued, “I held him while he lay dying in my arms. For a moment I wanted to follow him, so that I might offer him my companionship even in Mandos’s hall. Yet I could not follow him, for my soul was not bound to his in such a way, and I was so full of fury. Father begged his children to return with him to no avail. We left him and mother and our dead kins at the beach of Alqualonde, and we followed the High King across the ice. I did not know why my brothers chose so, and I was careful to refrain from asking. Perhpas they were fated to cross the sea and thus mingle their lives with those of their beloved Edain. But I came for something darker and simpler: vengeance. Not vengeance against Morgoth, whose corruption was so ancient and primal he might as well be a necessary blight of the world itself, I wanted vengeance again the House of Feanor. I swore in my heart to thwart him in every way, to make him answer, one day, for every life lost at Alqualonde.”

Celeborn gazed steadily into her eyes a long time, before saying, “No, Galadriel, you are better than this. You came to us instead; you sought and found everything but vanity and vengeance.”

“Am I? Perhaps once, under the leaves of Doriath, with Melian and Luthien laughing in our midst, I was better than vengeance. I am not so sure now. Once our people are settled in Balar, I desire nothing more than to ride to Maedhros and bury a sword in his throat.” 

After some time Celeborn finally murmured, “As do I, love, but it is an empty, meaningless desire. But we shall seek Maedhros out; we must bring Elrond and Elros home.”

She nodded mutely, seemingly distracted. So Celeborn continued, “After we recover the boys we can go east. We can cross the mountains and see the endless caverns beneath the peaks. We can seek out the Nandor and live with them for a while, no doubt they have much to teach us about the land east of the mountains. There are tribes of Secondborn living in the east too, so I have heard from Amdir’s Nandorin kin, very different from Men we know here. We can still see everything you desired to see upon the Hither Shore.”

“I cannot see so far,” She replied weakly, “I dare not hope. Some other calamity will befall us before any of that can unfold. The fate of the Noldor…”

“Is your own. Our own. You know in the depth of your heart your true and innocent desires can be fulfilled still, and you will find new insight and beauty upon these shores, even now. Did you not return for this reason?”

She fell silent pondering those words, and eventually, from underneath the bone-deep weariness and pain, she let a small smile surface. 

“You are right, Celeborn the Wise,” She said, “That is why I turned back from the sterile comfort of Mandos’s Hall. I returned for all of that. And you, most beloved.”

They did not know it yet, but soon Vingilot will rise from the west. The War of Wrath was almost upon them.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story uses a combination of the 101 versions of Celeborn and Galadriel Tolkien wrote about. And yes, I made Teleporno the Telerin prince actually a different person from Celeborn, grandson of Elmo. What can I say? I love the potentials of both characters and I am greedy. And before anyone brings this up, Galadriel did not love her first cousin the way she loved Celeborn.


End file.
